


Clouds

by esme_green



Category: Star Trek Reboot
Genre: F/M, Gen, Soul Bond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-08-05
Updated: 2009-08-05
Packaged: 2017-11-28 17:51:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/677167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/esme_green/pseuds/esme_green
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Intelligent cloud creatures need medical attention.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Clouds

 

Spock's briefing had been too brief, as it turned out. "The closest analogy," he'd said, "would be some kind of highly intelligent Mellitus."

Cloud creatures. Intelligent cloud creatures who needed medical attention. McCoy grunted and called Chapel. "If I'm doing this, you're coming with me. I'm a doctor, not a meteorologist."

They beamed down with a small security detail, and McCoy was still trying to get his bearings when a lightning bolt shot past, thundering down, striking the ground beside him and scattering the landing party.

"What the hell was that?" he barked. "Report!"

"Doctor..." One of the security officers pointed, and McCoy turned to see.

Oh. _Chapel._

Rushing to where she lay, he put his hand on her pulse point. Yes, she was still breathing, but only just. He flipped open his communicator. "McCoy to Enterprise. Emergency beam-out!"

Nothing happened.

The two security officers tried their communicators, but without success.

Damn. He grabbed the medical tricorder from his kit and started treatment on Chapel. "I don't know where the hell those talking clouds are, but find them and ask why our communicators aren't working."

It was a full sixty seconds before he realized no one had replied. Chapel still wasn't responding to standard treatment, but he stood up for a moment anyway and called for the rest of the team.

Nothing.

Damn it. Flipping open his communicator, he tried the backup emergency frequencies.

Still nothing.

Mist was starting to gather around him, making it difficult to see. Mist.

Oh.

"All right," he said out loud. "I don't know what you're pulling, but I have an injured officer here, and I need to get her back to sickbay as soon as possible."

The words formed in his mind, repeating back what he'd said: _You have an injured officer. You need to get her back._

Damn telepaths. "Yes," he snapped. "And wherever my security team are, I'd like them back too. Unharmed."

_They are unharmed._

McCoy counted to ten. "Well?" he asked finally. "Where are they and how am I getting back to the ship?"

No answer.

"Look," he continued, trying to rein in his temper. "I understand. Lightning happens. Just let me get Chapel back to the ship and I'll come back to help however we can."

_The woman is fading._

"Damn it!" McCoy shouted. "Let me get back! I can—"

_We will help…_

The mist thickened, crowding in around him until McCoy couldn't breathe, and blackness overtook him as he slumped over the body of his patient.

******

He awoke in sickbay, with Spock standing over him, frowning. "Doctor," he said. "You are awake."

"Tell me something I don't know," McCoy rasped. "Where's Chapel?"

"In the next bed, recovering well," said Spock. "Curious...it appears that the ion storm on the planet has made an impression on Nurse Chapel's brainwave patterns. And on yours."

"What the hell did those clouds do to us?" McCoy sat up too quickly and his head swam.

"Unknown," said Spock. "It will require further analysis."

Unfortunately, the science officer left sickbay before had McCoy worked up the energy to yell. As soon as he felt steady, he slid off his biobed and made his way over to Christine. She was still unconscious, but her readings looked normal, and he gave in to the urge to touch the pulse point on her wrist to re-check her heart rate.

Her eyes fluttered open. "Doctor?"

"Nurse." He cleared his throat. "You're fine. You're in sickbay."

"I was struck by lightning," she said, shaking her head a bit. "I can't believe it."

"I'm a little fuzzy myself," he said. "The communicators died, and the security team vanished, and then..."

He looked down into her worried face and stifled the urge to brush her hair away from her cheek. Her skin was so flawless, he thought. Pale and pretty. And her legs, god damn, they were the best thing he'd ever seen, and she always, always wore that tiny regulation miniskirt—

"Doctor?" She looked up at him, confused. "Are you all right? You seem to be—"

He got a hold of himself. "Sorry," he said, taking her hand. "Thinking to myself."

She was shaking her head slowly. "No, Doctor," she said. "You weren't."

He squeezed her hand and tried to think of something reassuring to say. "I'm sorry," he said. Her eyes drifted down to their clasped hands, and he realized she was looking at them. He had long fingers, she thought, long, strong, skilled fingers that—

"Nurse!" He let go of her hand, pulling away like it was on fire.

She blushed. "Sorry. You deserved it for the thing about my legs."

"I didn't..."

 _Yes you did,_ she told him.

 _Damn,_ he thought. _Damn telepaths._

 _Looks like,_ she agreed.

"Well," he said out loud. "I'm going to the bridge before--"

"Good idea," she agreed.

Unfortunately, the bridge wasn't far enough. He could still clearly hear Christine's thoughts. Intriguing though they were, he felt the need to give Spock an earful about telepaths and intelligent clouds and knowing what in hell was going on before they put the ship's crew in danger.

He felt only slightly better hearing Christine chime in with her own two cents at the back of his mind.

******

As it turned out, not even beaming off the ship was enough distance.

"Fascinating," said Spock. "You can still read Nurse Chapel's thoughts from orbit?"

"Yes, and it's damned inconvenient," McCoy snarled. Don't get him wrong, their were certain tantalizing possibilities—

Christine laughed, all those kilometres away, and McCoy tried not to think any more about it.

The clouds descended in more stately formation, now that the Captain and First Officer were in attendance. Kirk shot him a look that said to stay quiet; a bit rich coming from Captain Rash Impulse, Scourge of Good Diplomacy Everywhere, but good advice nonetheless.

Christine was in convulsions of laughter back on the ship, he could tell.

 _We have bonded you,_ the clouds said. _Your stable brainwave patterns sustained her through her injury, and her recovery in turn reshaped yours. It is the perfect union of minds._

"Well undo it, damn it!" So much for diplomacy.

_We cannot. The two patterns link and intertwine, feeding and shaping each other. They cannot be torn asunder._

Damn. He could hear Chapel echoing his assessment from the Enterprise.

"Fascinating," said Spock, and McCoy reined in the urge to punch him. "Perhaps I could train you and Nurse Chapel on Vulcan telepathic shield techniques, though if this bond has occurred at a quantum level, I am unsure how successful it would be."

McCoy felt Christine's nascent surge of interest in being trained by the Vulcan. She liked him; he was tall, dark, handsome, intelligent, and she could just stop there, little lady, thank you very much.

When they beamed back to the ship, Christine was waiting in the transporter room, eyes downcast as usual, the demure picture of the perfect nurse.

 _You're fooling no one,_ he growled.

 _I don't need to fool you,_ she replied, too sweetly.

"Jim." He turned to the captain, his face hardening. "I have some things to discuss with my Head Nurse."

Jim almost winced. "Understood. Let me know if there's anything I can do."

"Try not to get anyone seriously injured for the next few hours." Stalking to the door, he barked, "Nurse!" and felt her fall in behind him as he headed down the corridor.

The second the door to his quarters hissed shut behind them, her mouth was on his, her tongue sliding between his lips. And that was just dandy, he thought, his arms tightening around her waist as he manhandled her into his bedroom. Tumbling them both down to the bed together, his last coherent thought was that whatever this was, it wasn't a problem at all.

Of course, there were problems, the kind of problems you run across when two strong-minded people essentially share the same brain. But McCoy gave in with relative grace to the inevitable: requisitioned larger quarters, had Christine move in, and took another swing at happily ever after. After all, she was a hell of a nurse, had legs that moved a man to tears, a sharp scientific mind, and could talk dirty even when her mouth was occupied.

If it wasn't heaven, it came close.

 

 

 

 

 

END

 

 

 

 


End file.
